


the moon is darkening 'round me

by lambient



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, I am a trash can, M/M, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Slow Burn, Time Travel Fix-It, Time Travel Fuck-It-Up-Again, a dramatic lil bitch, but like, even sirius, everyone's secretly a virgin, if he says otherwise he's fucking lying, im talking seven slow burns, james and lily are kinda instalove, like this isn't a redemption, not a trash can't, peter pettigrew probably deserved better, sirius is a lil bitch, you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:28:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26219401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambient/pseuds/lambient
Summary: The marauders are gearing up for their final year at Hogwart’s, and in between pulling off revolutionary pranks and preparing for a very real, and very dangerous war while trying to pass their NEWTS; one thing is clear, nothing is certain – so no one is particularly surprised when  two very strange and very American (likely story) witches randomly show up at Hogwarts ready for the fall term.Can inner house prejudice’s be forgiven or are there some biases’ even imminent death can’t dissolve? Can the timeline be preserved after an accidental bout of time travel traps Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood in 1978?Or is everyone and everything just colossally fucked?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Luna Lovegood/Severus Snape, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Mary Macdonald/Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black/Peter Pettigrew
Comments: 36
Kudos: 68





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> This has been weighing on my lil noggin for a hot minute now, it was born after a very specific google search colossally disappointed me (but it was done in .003 seconds so thanks for all you do google) ANywho, this is probably going to be angsty as fuck because we got some angsty ass drama queen looking bitches to deal with (cough cough sirius black cough cough james potter) 
> 
> Basically I’ve never written for the marauders ever so if they’re ooc sorrrrry
> 
> Also im American as shit so if I overdue it with the English dialogue or whatever, well, sorry ‘bout it. But don’t come for me im a lil bitch and ill cry so. Yeah. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

Peter Pettigrew was having an absolutely fabulous day.

He had boarded the Hogwarts Express a few hours ago and Mary Macdonald had smiled at him – and, well, he knew – he _knew_ it was just a smile. But a smile from her was like playing a game of exploding snaps and being singed at the edges. It was exhilarating, and it was warm, warm like the sparklers she’d sent him on his birthday last year, and it stirred something inside of him, something that had previously been dormant, it was –

Well, it was _pleasant_.

He understood a little better now, how a bloke like James Potter – infinitely cool, and devastatingly handsome; could turn into a right puddle at the sight of Lily Evans.

He found his mates waiting for him in their usual compartment. They’d quietly tucked themselves away – which boded well for exactly nobody – and had their heads bent together conspiratorially. Nobody could hear them, surely, Remus had cast a perfect muffliato, but it was deliciously dramatic and the secretiveness of it all, well, that made him feel important.

So yeah, Peter was doing pretty great.

Even if James and Sirius had been on holiday in Egypt petting dragons and shit for the past week while Peter was left cleaning out his ancient and hostile aunt Hilda’s non-magical antique fireplace – _I swear to merlin Peter Pettigrew if you even slightly crack the Pyrocream glass I will skin you alive and use your innards as decorations and eat your weak brittle little bones–_

Aunt Hilda was lovely really, except she was batshit crazy and not a very nice woman at all. So, Peter was a little miffed he hadn’t been invited when he’d iterated multiple times via owl that he was very free, and very miserable. His only solace was that Remus hadn’t been invited either.

“Mates,” James addressed their compartment while leaning back into his seat, “this is _our_ year.”

James Potter was _cool_. He had this relaxed way of speaking, slowly and deliberately, as if nothing really bothered him one way or the other. He was always slouching and smiling and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and sucking on the corner of his cheek – none of those things on their own would have been particularly inspiring, but, because it was James, it just _was_. He had a languid smile and he gave it away freely, _happily_. He was mischievous and friendly and well, Peter idolized him.

“Every year’s our year, innit?” Sirius elbowed the boy cheekily.

If Peter idolized James, well, he felt the opposite for Sirius. He didn’t dislike the boy – he didn’t. They were best friends, he just found him to be a bit much sometimes, no, he supposed that wasn’t quite true. Sirius was cool too, no, Sirius was a badass. He grew his hair long, and he listened to angry muggle music, and he said what he wanted to say without fearing the consequences. Sirius was stupidly smart too; he did some of the best charm work Peter had literally ever seen and had been the first to successfully become an Animagi.

If there was anything Peter didn’t like about Sirius it was how close he and James were.

“Sure, but we’ve got not one, but two prefects now, nice job Petey,” and Peter, well – he _bloomed_ at the praise, “and yours truly is _the_ head boy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Is there nothing we can’t do now? Sirius, brother, you’ve been positively slagging off. We can’t have that, all in favor of kicking padfoot right out say oi!”

He knew James was joking, they were as good as brothers, he himself had said so, but, it was fun to watch Sirius gasp in horror all the same. For their part Peter and Remus chimed in with a chorus of oi’s, albeit Peter’s was far more enthusiastic than it had any right being.

“Oi!” Sirius embedded a clenched fist into James’s midsection and Lupin rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

Remus Lupin was an enigma. Peter had known him as long as he’d known James and Sirius, yet, there were times, _moments_ , where he felt like he didn’t know very much about Remus at all. Lupin was serious in a way none of the other boys were, yet, he was just as mischievous if only in a quieter, subtle way. He didn’t talk about his family, and Peter knew he struggled with extreme self-loathing. Which was baffling to him, considering he’d give anything to be more like Remus. Despite the scars marring his face, Remus Lupin was just as attractive as James and Sirius, if not more so. Girls were desperately interested in the soft, brooding prefect.

“Git!” James exclaimed and pummeled Sirius in the shoulder.

Peter was aware of how lucky he was to be considered a marauder. Compared to the other boys he was regrettably average. He wasn’t quick witted or funny and he only understood half of the jokes the other boys lobbed at each other. He was tall and skinny, but his ears were too large and rat like –

Actually, his whole face was a little too rat like for his liking.

But for better or for worse he’d been enfolded into their group all those years ago and one way or the other he would prove that he was deserving of it. Peter was fiercely loyal to the lot of them. He wouldn’t hear a negative word on them. They were his best mates. They were his _brothers_.

“You go too far mate,” Sirius whined rubbing his throbbing shoulder, and Peter could have sworn he was blinking back tears, “you lot wouldn’t last a week without my devilish good looks. How many times has this bum gotten us out of a write up last year?”

“Your arse didn’t get us out of shit,” James cried exasperatedly, “Remus did! Everyone knows little Emmaline Vance has had a crush on Moony since third year.” For his part, the tips of Remus’s ears did turn a little red.

Sirius scoffed in disbelief, “You know what, Marlene’s been telling me this for years, this arse is too good for you, _and_ Emmaline Vance!” A bold-faced lie, Marlene did an excellent job of avoiding the rugged flirt after he’d kissed her fifth year. She claimed it was so disgusting she’d been turned off from wizards forever and was now more inclined towards the women. Peter very well didn’t blame her.

James grappled with the other boy, landing a few soft punches here and there. Fights like these often erupted between the two, they settled it in the end alright considering neither was seriously angry.

Peter turned to Remus, “My bets on James,” he _always_ bet on James.

“We shouldn’t encourage their behavior,” Remus admonished, and Peter felt his stomach flip at the stern look on his friend’s face, “but I think we underestimate Sirius far too much, he’s bound to win one.”

It turns out Sirius didn’t win anything, except for a detention and a black eye.

\--

“I think that’s probably a new record, not even stepped foot in the castle and already a detention.” Sirius jammed a thumb into his chest with a bravado Peter had only ever seen him pull off.

A stroke of bad timing had sent Lily Evans walking past their compartment while the boys were wrestling. She’d said they were, what was it, _awful examples for the future students of Hogwarts_ , something about an immature git, and a right prat there. James had attempted to seduce her with his lazy smile, and she’d left the compartment in a flurry of red decidedly unseduced. But not before dolling out two detention slips.

“That’s not an accomplishment,” Lily scolded while tucking a strand of fiery orange hair behind her ear.

Lily Evans was an interesting individual, the only girl in the world, _probably_ , who could resist James Potter. And even then, her resolve was wavering, Peter could tell. Peter noticed a lot of things. When nobody paid attention to you it was easy to figure stuff like that out. At one point she’d had a weird relationship with Snape – a greasy haired git if there ever was one – but in the end, the marauders had made her see reason.

“It is though, maybe not a great accomplishment, but an accomplishment all the same.” Sirius chided from Lily’s left while swinging an arm around her shoulders. He was probably the only bloke in the world that could touch Lily so freely without warranting James’s anger or jealousy.

She shoved him away, her pretty face wrinkled at the edges, “You do realize how that’s worse, don’t you?”

“You gotta find your joy where you can Evans,” Sirius teased as he wove his way through Remus and Peter. He ended up linking arms with James. Padfoot rarely said anything that held any kind of weight – it just wasn’t in his nature – but, no one could deny that what he said held its own sort of gloomy truth. Everyone knew they were on the brink of a war.

“You think the mince pie will be as good as it was last year?” Peter asked suddenly, it was stupid – _he knew_ – there were certainly bigger problems in the world, but Sirius was right, you had to find your joy where you could and with so many bad things happening every day it was getting harder to do that. So, if Peter cared a little extra about the quality of food, well, nobody very well could judge him for it.

James awarded his comment with a short-clipped laugh, but he wasn’t being mean or anything, instead he slung a loose arm around his shoulders and pulled him close, “your heads certainly in the right place Petey.”

_Petey._ James was the only person in the world who called him that, to everyone else he was wormtail. Or just Peter. It was nice to have a nickname like that; in fact, he wouldn’t mind if Mary called him that once in a while –

But he was goofy looking, he _knew_ that, at any rate everyone said so. Mary Macdonald wasn’t interested in rodents, and he, well, he _knew_ that as well. But it was a lovely idea, wasn’t it?

Lily rolled her eyes again but gave Peter a small smile, “I did miss the pumpkin juice.”

“You lot are a bunch of gluttons, you are!” Sirius cried; his voice echoed loudly around them. He skipped over to Remus who was leading the pack of teenagers and looped their arms together, “what say you moony? Missed the food, did you?”

“Yes,” Remus agreed and gave one of his rare easy smiles, showing his perfectly straight prefect teeth. Sirius clutched his heart and dropped Lupin’s arm. He stopped short, the others didn’t pay very much attention, they continued their ascent up the grassy knoll figuring Sirius would catch up one way or the other.

“Moony!” Sirius bellowed and it was all so woefully dramatic Remus couldn’t help pausing and training his appraising eyes on the boy. At Lupin’s pause, however, the rest of the group also turned to the ridiculous teenager.

Remus shook his head and smiled softly, “the pudding mate, it’s something else ‘innit?”

A long moment of silence followed that admission.

“I suppose I quite like the pasta,” Sirius shrugged, and then Prongs was yelping into the night. His voice reached the tips of the trees and echoed around them, it was stupid and ridiculous but, because it was James the rest of the teenagers erupted into cheers as well.

It was not lost on Peter though, that they were all tip toeing around the awful things happening around them. But didn’t they deserve this? One final moment before they needed to be serious forever. Couldn’t they be sheltered for one more night?

Yes, Peter supposed, they very well did deserve this, didn’t they?

Remus noticed something was wrong first, he held up a hand in warning. While Remus wasn’t older than them by any means, and wasn’t any more in control of the situation than they were, they all stopped. Remus was respected throughout the entire student body; he had a specific way of moving and behaving that just made you obey him. The perfect prefect, then.

Lupin pulled out his wand and if they weren’t on edge before they certainly were now. 

Even Peter, who was rubbish at offensive spell casting, pulled out his wand. He couldn’t do much, he was blatantly, and unfortunately aware of his lack of skill. But he could at least cast a protego, after all, he’d gotten top marks during a practical exam in Defense last year.

The group was more confused than anything really, it was Hogwarts. Ancient magic protected them. Nothing _actually bad_ could happen.

But still, there was always that fear that ate him. The one the picked at the edges of his mind and whispered _what if_. What if the dark lord found a way through the wards? What if death eaters were waiting to attack them? What if they got hurt? What if something worse than that happened? What if they died? What if –

No, Peter supposed, the universe very well didn’t think they deserved a whole lot of anything. Because when they crested the hill, waiting at the very top, embedded in the grass – as if the leaves and the vines were merely claiming what was theirs – as if they’d been there forever; were two very dead bodies. 

As it were, Peter Pettigrew thought, he was having a pretty awful day.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I wasn’t expecting anyone to read my story lol thanks so much it lights my dumpster trash can heart on fire. Also the mood for today is audience member #985 at a keane concert where we all just scream the lyrics to somewhere only we know™. Also rely is a wild fucking word, doesn’t it look like I spelled it so goddamn wrong?? Anyways. I’m an actual fucking crackhead, so like please don’t take what I say too seriously. 
> 
> Also content warning for like angst because this chapter is probably really fucking depressing because I was supposed to come home from college today but I got my shop hours mixed up so I have to wait until tomorrow which isn’t a big deal but im a fucking loser with no friends and I miss my cat so goddamn bad – but that’s not like, relevant, anywho have a good day.
> 
> also thanks for reviewing ya'll are way too good to me lol

Hermione Granger was pissed off.

Not in the way she had been when Harry had cheated all year to get top marks in potions – and it _was_ cheating, not in the way she had been when Ron had thoroughly ruined her Yule ball experience. And that had been, well – she’d finally _, finally_ felt pretty. Nobody had a mean thing to say about her, not even Malfoy. Sure, she was still the same unsufferable know-it-all, nothing had changed, she knew that. She knew when the sun set and she abandoned her pink dress robes and wiped the makeup away everything would go back to normal – she’d just be Hermione, bossy and uptight and – and _muggleborn_. But still, it had been nice to pretend. If only for a night.

No, she was pissed off in a way that she’d never been before.

Because she had been caught off guard – something that rarely ever happened – and now she was in a strange disorienting place – and her head, well, it hurt; like _hell_. She couldn’t see very well either, just a blurry kaleidoscope of dark greys and slightly darker greys.

People are talking – she can definitely hear people talking, _vaguely_ , and she knows she should be listening. Something tells her that this is really important. It hurts but she’s no stranger to pain – _fucking mudblood_ \- so she squeezes her eyes shut and she just –

 _“This isn’t St. Mungo’s, professor. They need medical attention that I am not equipped to provide.”_ Medical attention?

Oh, yeah.

They had been at Malfoy manner, Hermione, Ron, and Harry. With Luna and her father. She wonders if they’re here too. It hurts to remember and what a loose unclear thing her memory is. She wonders if they feel as awful as she feels, if they felt as cracked open and just _– raw_.

_“Surely you don’t doubt your abilities madam Pomfrey.”_

Madam Pomfrey? _No_. No that’s wrong.

_“Sir, with all due respect, I tend the bumps and scrapes young witches and wizards often tend to get themselves into. These young ladies, they need – they need serious medical attention. I don’t have the time –“_

_Hogwarts,_ Hermione was at Hogwarts. Which was wrong for so many different reasons. Something strange and foreign pumped it’s way through her veins, it felt like – well it felt like panic –

A desperate, heart wrenching, jaw dropping, fist clenching panic. _I don’t know what to do,_ the realization crashes over Hermione – literally crashes like an oncoming train or something else as equally destructive and hopelessly bleak, _I cannot think, for the first time in my life I cannot fucking think and that is wrong, this is wrong._

The effort is too much, even for a smart witch, one who brewed a successful Polyjuice potion in her second year, even for a strong witch, one who put up with all the teasing and the, the – _mudblood_ – and the dying and the losing your friends and the hiding and –

It’s not long at all before Hermione’s firm grip slips and with it so does her stream of consciousness – and it’s _not_ , well, it’s not for lack of trying. Because if it was a solid tangible thing – her consciousness – well it would be a bruised, and bloody, precariously fragile thing indeed.

\--

The next time Hermione wakes up, it feels a little more permanent. She can tell where she is, she doesn’t have to lift her head really. It was the Hogwarts hospital wing. Which was _wrong_ – especially because she had a curious Albus Dumbledore peering over her. And she knew – Hermione was smart, really fucking smart – so she knew, she knew something awful had happened. One, Dumbledore was dead, like fell from a bell tower shot with the killing curse kind of dead. Two, Hermione was in hiding. Hogwarts was overrun with death eaters; this is the _last_ place she should be. 

There were only two conclusions Hermione could come up with. One; she was dead, like Albus Dumbledore dead. Or two; she had time travelled, which well, it was a pretty fucking crazy idea, but she’d had the time turner hadn’t she – in her hands, _yes_ – and well she didn’t very well have it anymore did she?

“Oh, Professor,” A voice – a dreamy, serene, wistful voice – broke up the silence. Hermione looked to her left and there was Luna –

 _Luna_. What was she doing here?

She felt an overwhelming sense of dread wash over her. Luna had been with her before – before whatever weird mangled thing had happened that led them to this moment. This quiet devastating moment. They were in a very precarious situation, indeed. Luna – bless her heart and her soul and her stupid fucking pink goggles – but she wasn’t known for being subtle. And they really, really needed to be subtle. Hermione sent her a look – a look that said _please, Luna, whatever intelligence the sorting hat saw in you and decided to put you in Ravenclaw, please just use it, please just think, please don’t say anything_ –

And, well, the girl just beamed at her, “Oh, Hermione. You’re here too. Wonderful, shall we have tea then?”

“ _Luna_ ,” Hermione hissed, and tried, tried to impress upon her the seriousness of the situation. If they had traveled back in time, which she was very well sure they had, then the timeline needed to be protected. Interacting with Albus Dumbledore did quite the opposite, her blood exploded in her veins – fear – Hermione was afraid. Their very presence here was going against absolutely everything she’d been taught

“I do believe tea might be just what we need,” Dumbledore nodded slightly, and Madam Pomfrey who had apparently been stood next to him – _had she been there the whole time?_ –slipped away, “Excellent suggestion, miss?”

Hermione studied Luna’s face very carefully and shook her head slowly. The action was not lost on Dumbledore.

“Luna,” She chirped, her lips curved up into the soft impenetrable Luna smile. The one she wore when people were making fun of her, the one she wore after she’d been tortured and locked in a cellar for months, the one she wore when she’d saw Hermione for the first time in nearly a year. It was – unsettling.

Dumbledore tilted his head curiously, as if waiting for her to continue. To offer up a surname. Luna seemed to notice this, and with deft fingers she began braiding her long knotted blonde hair, “Just Luna, if you please.”

Relief washed over Hermione, but it was short lived indeed.

Dumbledore turned his appraising – eerily stony – eyes on Hermione. He raised an eyebrow and she, well, she _knew_ what impossible thing he was going to ask of her, “Hermione, sir.”

“I suppose it’s just Hermione as well,” He assessed shrewdly.

“Sir, I’m awfully confused,” and it wasn’t a lie – Hermione was really fucking confused, “what – what day is it?”

“September 3rd,” Dumbledore supplied simply, something dangerous sparked in his eyes and Hermione felt her stomach flip, “1978.”

So, they _had_ time traveled. Hermione buried her head in her hands, this didn’t make sense – 1978? They’d went back in time twenty years. This was unprecedented, surely – _surely_ this had never happened before.

“Oh, well, I quite like mugwort and orange peel in my tea.” Luna supplied dreamily not even phased, like she expected – no – there was no way she - anyone could have predicted this.

Madam Pomfrey promptly returned and Luna gave her a brilliant blinding smile while also tying off the end of her braid with a frayed old shoestring. Hermione certainly wasn’t going to waste time wondering where she'd got it from.

“All out I’m afraid.” Dumbledore said sharply, and Hermione winced at the tone of his voice. One thing was clear, this Dumbledore was different from their Dumbledore. He was younger – if only slightly – and if she recalled correctly – she did, she _always_ did – they were also on the brink of war. That meant he would be cautious and distrusting of random young witches that appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

Hermione recoiled – _almost_ – at the realization that he probably assumed they were in cahoots with the dark lord. Which was just – insane. They’d have to tell him the truth then, she loathed the idea of possibly disrupting the timeline; it certainly went against everything she believed, but they needed an ally. Despite the notions or ideas Dumbledore might have currently had about them, well, he was good, unfailingly, undeniably, and they could very well do a lot worse.

“Hm,” Hermione cleared her throat, “Professor, it would seem we have a lot to discuss then – ah, I would prefer if we could do it somewhere privately, it’s something of a sensitive subject.”

“Sensitive indeed,” Luna chimed in and Hermione shot her a look, “and we aspect you shall have lots of questions.”

He looked at them – warily – and seemingly must have decided that there wasn’t a whole lot of damage two injured, wandless teenage girls could do. He nodded his head and let out a grave, “Very well.”

\--

“They’re staring, they’re all staring at us.” Hermione noted stiffly as Minerva McGonagall led them into the great hall. After explaining their less than ideal situation – to the best of their ability – it was still shaky and well, the time turner that had brought them back was still missing.

“Let them,” Luna said softly and laced their fingers together. It – it startled her. When was the last time someone had taken her hand like this? Had it been Harry or Ron? Or had it been her mother before – _before,_ well, just before.

Hermione blinked back tears – which was just ridiculous, Hermione didn’t - she didn’t cry. She wasn’t sensitive, she couldn’t be – not when her best mates were boys. Stupid, oblivious, cruel boys. But they were her boys, and they needed her. They needed her and she was here; trapped in the past at Hogwarts – but not – not her Hogwarts and –

No, she wouldn’t cry.

Luna pulled Hermione in for a hug – it was jarring to say the least – “Don’t forget to look up sometimes,” she gave her hand one last reassuring squeeze and stepped away. Hermione felt a pang in her chest as she watched the girl saunter over to the Ravenclaw table. A terrible ache trembled through her ribcage and settled deep in the bone – a feeling she never thought she would associate with Luna Lovegood.

Hermione took her seat at the table blatantly ignoring the impulsive staring. She knew it was going to be bad, she knew she wasn’t going to blend in – Dumbledore had made sure of that. Any chance of blending in had been thoroughly squashed when he took to the podium and he talked about the poor American orphans seeking sanctuary from the war.

Transfer students then.

Everyone knew Hogwarts very well didn’t have transfer student’s, didn’t they?

“Glad to see you aren’t dead,” Hermione’s head snapped up at that and her heart stopped – something cold and icy and unfortunately sobering washed over her. Sirius Black. Very much alive, very young, and very not scarred. Oh, how her heart broke to look at him. He picked up his cup and ambiguously waved it around, “Cheers,”

“Excuse me?” Hermione bristled, because while Dumbledore had mentioned some students had found them unresponsive outside the gates she hadn’t thought – she didn’t think it had been them.

“What the great big oaf meant to say was, we’re glad you’re part of Gryffindor.” Harry – no, not Harry – James chimed in from beside him and Sirius let out a high pitched oi and embedded a clenched fist into James’s stomach.

“Merlin knows we don’t need any more Slytherins, a traitorous lot they are. You don’t know about that yet, of course. But you will –“

Peter – of course, of course he was here. The irony of his statement was not lost on her; what an awful pathetic man he would become. But he was still a boy, wasn’t he? Right now in this moment he was just a boy eating his dinner. He hadn’t betrayed anyone yet, but he _would_. No, Tom Riddle had been just a boy once and he had still killed people –

Peter was not just a boy; he was a traitor and Hermione felt nauseas at the thought. She quickly looked away from him and he brought a hand up to his face self-consciously. She was so disgusted with the very sight of him that she didn’t – well, she didn’t feel as bad she probably should have.

Next to her a radiant – of course she was radiant, and beautiful, and all things good and warm – Lily, rolled her eyes and offered her a reassuring smile, “Don’t listen to a thing they tell you, that lot is not to be trusted, except maybe Remus. You can maybe trust Remus.”

 _Remus_ –

Hermione felt her heart sink even lower – he poked his head out and offered a curt wave.

His face was bruised and the scars on his cheeks looked fresh, but he wasn’t hardened by betrayals, and loss, and a deep winding loneliness yet. None of them were. They were young, and carefree, and their smiles were so fucking big it made her heart blister and throb and she wanted to cry, and she wanted another hug from Luna, and she wanted – she desperately wanted to go home. Because well –

They were all here and accounted for weren’t they?


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lemme know if you don’t like shifting perspectives. I understand if it’s annoying – I just like writing from different characters points of views yah feel me – even if it isn’t cohesive. I am not like a good writer. Just having some fun <3
> 
> also my stories tend to be more prose than plot but I guess imma try it; see what the hype is and all that. Also, this chapter is 90% dialogue which is also rare, so uh, soak it up lol. also if the character's are ooc it's because i really don't know what i'm doing but i'm definitely trying an embarrassingly amount - also all mistakes are mine because im a shit editor. please review im a lil crackhead thirsty for reviews - and like i tried hard.

Hogwarts is – _different_

It’s a little darker the second time around – the corridors seem longer and the doors to the great hall squeal and whimper from the sheer effort, and the people are different – vastly; crueler – _she’s quite weird then, the blonde one? Oh yeah, the American. Sorting hat must be right bananas if it put her in Ravenclaw – girls a twit_. – no that’s not quite right, is it? Not cruel at all; truthful then – at any rate it isn’t anything Luna hasn’t heard before.

She takes a quiet pleasure in their musings – let them wonder, let them wonder how she got into Ravenclaw, and how she gets top marks when she’s, what was it, ah, a _twit_?

No, Hogwarts wasn’t so _different_ at all.

But the light that filters in through the room of requirements is probably a living thing, Luna decides, it has to be, it moves and echoes and casts shadows resolutely. It bathes the furrowed half of Hermione’s face in a splendor unique and enigmatic in its ways, it sets the tips of the trees on fire; it’s reckless and purposeful and – well it’s quite lovely, isn’t it?

“You’re telling me you know what’s happened to the time turner, and you’re just now bringing it up?” Hermione chastised while her hair; certainly a force to be reckoned with – cackled at the ends. This didn’t faze Luna, however, who was laying upside down on the infinitely comfortable couch she’d specifically requested when they conjured up the magical room. She’d grown rather familiar with Hermione’s outbursts as of late.

They’d been at new Hogwarts – which is what Luna dubbed it for the sake of clarity – for approximately three (conscious) days now, and Hermione had made quite the ruckus with her accidental magic in the library their first night, and then there was the thing with that Pettigrew boy on the quidditch pitch yesterday, and now, well, now her hair was on fire.

“It’s not like I knew, per say, I had a theory; a feeling.” Luna hummed softly while twisting her hair into tiny delicate plaits with deft fingers, “Yes, I had a splendid feeling and well I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

“I suppose,” Hermione deflated if only slightly, “so where has it gone then?”

Luna took a moment to finish off her twist before moving to another strand of coiled hair, “It was smashed into pieces, yes?”

“I’m not sure – I don’t think –”

“Take your shirt off.” Luna ordered, and took delight in the way Hermione’s nose crinkled in confusion. She always remembered to have fun in her own quite little way.

“Excuse me?” Hermione reared on her so quickly it was almost comical.

“Your shirt,” Luna tied off another braid and sat upright. She felt dizzyingly exquisite. “you need to take it off.”

“Luna, I don’t think… that’s ridic – what happened to the time turner?” Hermione was disgruntled, Luna had never seen the girl so undone before – no that’s a lie – she’d seen her like this when she first woke up in the hospital wing and realized they’d time traveled. _Yes_ , time traveling was a difficult thing, indeed.

“I’m trying to show you.” Luna stated, she wasn’t worried about time – pun intended – and she wasn’t irritated either. She could recognize how hard it was to digest seemingly impossible things. She would be patient and she would be kind – _always_.

Hermione rested her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side, “No, you’re trying to get me to disrobe.”

“I’m doing both, then.” Luna responded agreeably folding her hands in her lap. Her usually tame albeit messy hair was now a chaotic excess of tangled braids; it made her feel strong – something like a lioness – Gryffindor-esque then.

Her cheeks were tinged distinctly pink from having hung upside down for so long, and she was slightly breathless in that distracted dreamy way of hers.

“Luna, I don’t –”

“Trust me, will you?” It was a little harsher than she’d meant it to be, but she was learning people wouldn’t take her seriously unless she’d made them. She fixed her unseeing grey eyes on Hermione’s forehead and willed her to see the secret message there; _trust me like you did at the ministry, trust me to know what I’m doing even if I seem mad – especially if I seem mad._

“Fine,” Hermione agreed begrudgingly and began unbuttoning her white oxford, she hesitated for a moment, trembling fingers lingering before she whimpered out, “But don’t, _don’t stare_ ,”

“No worries,” Luna beamed, “I’ll only look a little.”

“ _Luna_ ,” Hermione sighed but continued to unbutton her shirt, she slipped it down past her shoulders and stared directly past the blonde girl, mortified brown eyes fixed firmly on the wall. She worried her bottom lip, and _that_ was particularly telling, she was embarrassed of her scars.

And scars indeed. Hermione had magnificent skin; a smooth caramel brown with dark freckles dotting her shoulders, but the skin was hopelessly marred at the sternum, a scabbed over jarring red wound was met with a cacophony of waxy lines that bloomed across her chest. Her veins hummed, and shimmered, and glowed a blinding _radiant_ face-pinching gold; the effect against her dark skin was – _mesmerizing_.

“Tell me, does your chest _hurt_ Hermione?” Luna hummed distractedly and fought the urge to reach out and feel it –

“I mean a little,” Hermione shrugged innocuously, through gritted teeth, “I’ve got a rather nasty scar, haven’t I?”

“Yes,” Luna nodded, and Hermione swallowed _hard,_ “but the time turner, well, it’s certainly taken a liking to you.”

“What?” Hermione's unnerving dark eyes darted to Luna, searching for any sign of deception – but there wasn’t any, Luna wasn’t known for making cruel jokes, was she?

“It’s inside you, of course.” Luna stated simply, she grabbed another strand of hair and begun braiding again, it was a curious habit of hers. She supposed it made her feel in control, when she wasn’t sure if – well if fate knew what it was doing.

“Don’t be daft, Luna, I think I would know if there was a time turner inside of me.” The girl stiffened hastily, but something in the quirk of her brow faltered and well – it was almost imperceptible _, almost_ , but Luna was awfully good at seeing the tiny working parts of people. It had a profound impact on Luna, to see Hermione Granger – brightest witch of her age – not quite so sure at all. Brazenly unsteady.

“The time sand then,” Luna amended, she hopped off the couch and skipped towards Hermione, all the while pulling out a curious little compact mirror. It had absolutely no magical functions, but it was peculiar and exhilarating in its ways. It had belonged to somebody important – her _mother_ ; the memory – the thought – the moment; didn’t make her as sad as it normally would have. The devastating pathetic little chord resonating in her chest was nothing but a lovely reminder of a lovely person that had existed once, “it’s in your blood, look.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” Hermione cried, she brought an unsteady hand to her chest and began tracing the scar tissue – she couldn’t very well argue with that, now could she?

“Don’t worry,” Luna chirped before collapsing the mirror and tucking it away into her charmed skirt pocket. She tugged at a strand of Hermione’s hair and braided it in one deft motion.

“Oh perfect,” Hermione rolled her eyes before stepping away and pulling her shirt up and over her shoulders. “I feel so much better Luna, thanks ever so,”

Luna wasn’t as oblivious as everyone thought she was, she knew Hermione was being nasty, but there was a certain kind of power in not acknowledging it, besides – she’d promised herself she’d be patient – patient _and_ kind, “No problem.”

Hermione flinched at the sincerity in Luna’s voice, she finished the last button before she spoke again, “I’m sorry, but you do understand that this – whatever it is - is incredibly dangerous.”

“Of course, I do,” Luna nodded her head solemnly, “powerful magic is _always_ dangerous.” She sees her mother then – and it’s – well it’s quite terrible, isn’t it? She paints on a perfectly brittle smile and fixes her gaze on the window, a group of Hufflepuff’s were playing quidditch – a welcome distraction, _this was easy, this was familiar, this was okay._ Luna quite liked quidditch.

“I don’t – Luna, do you know what’s happened? Why we’re here?”

Luna shrugged and walked towards the window, suddenly wishing it had been bigger. She’d quite like to see who was winning – “Not particularly,”

“Do you have a feeling then?” Hermione stared after the girl who’s only answer was to silently rest her elbows on the dusty windowsill and subconsciously twist an unbraided strand of hair around her finger, “What was it, warm and –”

“ _Splendid_.” Luna offered conversely.

“Yes, warm and uh warm and splendid.”

“Indeed.”

Hermione nervously wrung her hands together; she stopped suddenly at Luna’s side and peered out the window. They were silent as they watched the different stories unfolding before them. Hermione fixated her gaze on the horizon, finding a bewildering sort of comfort in how it all blended together so, so _spectacularly_. Luna watched the flurry of movement, her cloudy – always so foggy – eyes latched onto the various quidditch balls astounded at the way they whizzed through the sky defiantly.

“Why didn’t you say any of this to Dumbledore?”

“He’s a bit preoccupied is he not?” Luna shrugged and turned towards Hermione; abruptly, suddenly, “There’s a war going on, certainly we won’t be his biggest priority, you know that. And, well, I don’t think I particularly trust him.”

“But he’s – he’s Dumbledore. He’s _good_.” Hermione spluttered.

“He is, isn’t he?” Luna hummed softly before turning back to the window. It didn’t feel like an agreement at all.

Hermione reared on the girl, her voice firm, “Look, Luna, can you just tell me what you know?”

“Can anyone really know anything? They can have theories and they can have ideas but what do any of us actually know?” Luna mused fondly and Hermione had to literally bite down on her tongue – _hard_ – willing the coppery taste of blood to stop the knee-jerk retort waiting at the tips of her teeth.

“Luna, that’s _ridiculous_. Of course, we can know things, we form hypothesis’s, we experiment, we collect data _and_ then we know.” Despite genuinely trying to reason with the odd girl before her, Hermione couldn’t quite keep the iciness out of her response.

“Then we know, indeed.” Luna said softly, in that way she did when she wanted Hermione to know she didn’t agree. She turned to the distraught girl next to her, and smiled – it’s wooden and brittle and – “Hermione, when we were at Malfoy Manor, before we went back in time your turner must have noticed your elevated blood pressure and sensed the panic; it’s a very strong scent you know, not as strong as love but I suppose that’s neither here nor there, and it must have known you needed to get away – or I suppose in this case, _back_.”

“Luna, that’s –”

“If you’re going to disagree with me, Hermione, perhaps you’ll have a better counter argument then that’s impossible. Because it would seem, it’s not impossible at all.” Something fearsome indeed flashed in Luna’s eyes, and for her part, well, Hermione gaped decidedly startled for a moment before firmly closing her mouth.

“Splendid,” Luna chimed before leaving the window and making her way back to the plushy sofa. “Time Turner’s are emotional things, they are, they get quite attached to their user. I am not surprised it bonded itself to you, rather that it hadn’t done it sooner.”

“Luna, you’re talking about the time turner like it’s – like it’s a living, breathing, thing.”

“Oh, am I?” Luna asked airily before plopping down on the couch, “How odd, I hadn’t noticed.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “You think it is living then?”

It’s not a question.

“Living, non-living; Hermione, you’re brilliant, but your thinking is so limited by rules and boundaries. Surely you know it’s a lot more complex than living, and non-living.”

“So, what? There’s like a grey area?”

“Yes, there’s always a grey area. And every magically infused object resides in said grey area. I’ve found that the curious little trinkets I’ve collected in the muggle world often take on a personality of their own – if I spend enough time around them of course.”

“So, you’re saying when we preform magic on inanimate objects our magical cores split – no that’s not right – it fuses then?”

“I wouldn’t say fuse, more like connects. It’s stronger if we preform magic on the item, of course. But they become attached to us just by being near, I suppose, keeping it with us and all that, at any rate it’s quite understandable. We become rather attached to our own objects too, don’t we?”

“Luna, this is –”

“A theory, a speculation. An idea.”

“Right.” Hermione let out a grave sigh; and it said everything Hermione hadn’t – _I can’t believe I’m stuck here with you, of all people, – Loony Lovegood_ – “I suppose we can discuss further tomorrow, we’re going to miss dinner if we aren’t careful,”

“Hermione.” Luna said simply and the other girl turned to her.

“Yes?”

There were a few things Luna could have said then; _You seem out of sorts. You seem nervous and afraid. You seem like you need a friend._ But she settled on, “Is everything okay?”

“Not really – No, Luna.”

“Harry and Ron? You miss them?”

“It’s more than that, we were doing something important and well – dangerous. They won’t – they _need_ me. Luna, they’re idiots the two of them, they’re going to get themselves killed.”

“I think,” Luna observed, “you should maybe put a little more faith into them.” 

“Maybe,” Hermione nodded before tugging at her red Gryffindor’s tie, “– I just – I just feel so powerless, and I try to stay neutral, I try to stay average and boring so nobody asks any questions but – Peter – the boy that looks like a rat – well he’s going to do something so awful and I just – I’m trying not to hate him for it, but it’s unforgivable you see?”

“But he hasn’t done it yet?” Luna deducted while picking at the loose threads of the sofa partially hoping the whole thing might unravel at her incessant ministrations. It was maroon, which was a fine color really, except Luna didn’t like it one bit. It reminded her – foolishly, stupidly – of her mother’s hair and the color of the blood that stained the kitchen floor so permanently only a rug could hide –

“No, not yet,” Hermione agreed, “but – but I _know_ he will.”

“Here’s something I doubt anyone has ever told you Hermione, but time, it isn’t – it’s not linear; it isn’t so clear cut as he will, or he won’t.” Hermione scoffs at this, and it’s not even on purpose, it was all just so bloody preposterous, wasn’t it? Luna continued unperturbed, “There are branches and choices and moments that bleed into the other, he hasn’t done it yet and perhaps – perhaps he won’t do it at all.”

“Luna, I hope you aren’t suggesting I meddle with time because you know that’s –”

“Ridiculous, Luna, absolutely ridiculous. The timeline needs to be protected,” Luna mimicked, and Hermione flinched at the tone of her voice, “Yes, I am aware.”

“I don’t – I’m not that condescending, am I?”

“Of course not,” But it was that same unspoken disagreement Luna was so artful at, “dinner then?”

\--

Hogwarts is – well Hogwarts is _fine,_ Luna decides.

She’s taking the same classes she’d been assigned in her year – and it’s not bad. The whole predicament, it’s not _so_ bad at all, it’s kind of funny almost. She didn’t have very many friends back home, there was Neville; sweet and always stumbling over his words and asking for more than she could give. Harry; calm and tolerable and unflinchingly nice. Lavender; endearing in her own way, she taught Luna how to braid after all. Either way she didn’t feel their loses acutely or painfully or anywhere that she hadn’t felt them when she’d spent her nights alone in the common room leafing through muggle poetry.

But Hermione on the other hand, well Luna could very well understand how hard it would be to lose so many precious people all at once.

The teachers are mostly the same which is – well it’s nice.

Slughorn is loud and boisterous and crude but the familiarity of his presence soothes the bent and frayed edges Luna’s loathe to admit exist within her. They aren’t new by any means, just a little more prominent now.

The dungeons have never bothered Luna, she quite liked wandering the halls – with no light but whatever twilight filtered in through the windows – back home when her shoes would go missing. They were often in the darkest corners – a metaphor then.

She’s not great at potions, either, not even good. But Luna likes it anyways, maybe likes the watching more. Observing is a powerful tool indeed – after all; how else does one learn.

And she wouldn’t say she’s nervous; not outwardly, not really, but when Slughorn gestures to the table at the back of the room and the dark edged boy glares at her – well her stomach flips nauseatingly and it feels a lot like dread.

Because he had killed Dumbledore and he let death eaters roam the castle and he had watched them hurt her – hunt the younger students and he had grimaced and turned away but he hadn’t really done anything and it was oh so cowardly and oh so unforgivable –

But he hadn’t done it yet; what had she told Hermione earlier?

_There are branches and choices and moments that bleed into the other, he hasn’t done it yet and perhaps – perhaps he won’t do it at all._

Hermione very well might not be interested in messing with the timeline, but Luna very well wasn’t Hermione.

How many needless deaths would have been prevented if somebody had chosen – if only for a moment, a heart stopping, tantalizing moment – to be _kind_. She was going to actively choose Snape this time around.

“Severus,” Luna greeted and plopped her books down next to him, “what a _fearsome_ name.”

He thinks she’s making fun of him, she’s not – it’s just who she is – he’ll come to know that eventually, she’s sure of it.

“Who are you?” He glares at her then – it’s, well, it’s _withering_.

“Luna,” She tucks a strand of unruly hair behind her ear and offers up a very firm – resolute, then – _I am choosing you, so please choose me_ hand.

“Okay.” His brows furrow and his face goes cold – eerily, “What do you want?”

Luna lets her hand fall to her side – Rome wasn’t built in a day, how many years had it taken to find the Nargles?

“Oh, nothing really,” She shrugs and watches as he pushes his hair up and out of his face. It’s a rough, ruthless gesture, and well, Luna has to admit he does have a rather big nose. It’s crooked; an episkey would probably fix it right up but she supposes it’s probably rude to ask, and perhaps it was endearing in its own unnerving sort of way.

“Then why the fuck are you talking to me?” His brows knit together, and his eyes are icy – painfully – dreadfully narrowed. She wants to smooth the creases away with her thumb; _you’re too young to be this hard, you know, and that kind of festering anger; let it die, let it breathe and this_ –

Oh, _right_.

It was Snape, he hadn’t ever been nice, had he?

Well she’d be extra patient then, extra kind –

“You had that look in your eyes – the foggy one, and well, I was worried the wrackspurts might have gotten to you. But you seem to be unusually clear headed.”

“You’re mad then –”

“It may have been mentioned – _mad_ – loony even,” she gave a private sort of laugh, that startled him, “but that word is used far too liberally for my tastes. Mad, no, _no_ I am not mad at all.”

“Okay.” He stares at her for a moment, unblinkingly before violently sneering, “If that’s all, then if you could kindly fuck off that would be phenomenal.”

“Hm, I don’t suppose I can.” Luna nodded along absently, fiddling with the hem of her wool skirt, “It seems we’re potions partners.”

He blanches at this.

“Professor, there must be a mistake, I don’t want – I don’t _need_ a partner.” Snape argued; his voice is low, and surly, already it has the same irritated inflection she was oh so familiar with. It carries across the room quite thoroughly and sends the other students heads swiveling in their direction.

“You’re our most talented student Severus, and I couldn’t think of anyone better for young Ms. Granger” – Luna was still getting used to that, but she very well couldn’t go as Lovegood now could she? – “if she might acquire your assistance.”

His ears tinge pink, and Luna wants to tug at them just to – well just to see. “Yes, professor.”

“You’re rather hostile.” She states simply, flashing him that wooden, brittle smile.

“I _know_ ,” He grinds out.

“It’s probably the wrackspurts.”

“ _Fuck_ off.”

It makes Luna laugh, positively guffaw, and well, it’s so preposterous isn’t it? Professor Snape telling her to fuck off.

He points his body far away from her and when their elbows accidentally brush, he acts like he’s been burned, Luna doesn’t take any offense though. He’s rather prickly but she’s nothing if not patient.

After a painstakingly quiet and uncomfortable potions lesson he sniffs at her, “You’re really quite shit at potions you know.”

“I _know_ ,” Luna bobs her head along with his assertation. She can tell he’s curious, and well, she positively beams at him.

He can probably sense the satisfaction swimming in her eyes and her stomach and the tips of her fingers because he fixes her with one final glare, “And your American accent is quite shit too.”

She gives him a tempered smile, one that’s not wooden or brittle or hollow but full and blooming and she – well she feels lightheaded and positively jovial – “I _know_.”


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again in a new perspective (two actually omg im crazy) – yell at me if it’s annoying and I’ll stop switching lol
> 
> Also, today’s mood is; the rat song from ratatouille – just like – that’s it – that’s the whole mood. Also, I might drop out college lmfao – jk. But this is usually the point of my stories where I just like quit writing them – I really like this story so I don’t think that’s gonna happen, but idk – I try to tell myself I write for me – and it’s mostly true – but I honestly have no fucking idea if it’s good, so even just one review really helps me out. Thank yahh.
> 
> NOBODY TALK TO ME ABOUT TENSES I DON’T FUCKING UNDERSTAND THEM

It’s the third week of school when Peter realizes she – _Hermione_ – just doesn’t like him.

And it’s fine – _really_ – a lot of people didn’t like him; and it doesn’t, well, it doesn’t bother him. He wasn’t so much like Lily that he felt at an extreme loss. He was much too rat like and much too stupid to be upset about those kinds of things. He had his friends and that was perfectly fine – more than fine, it was excellent, and truth be told; he couldn’t really give a damn about the new girl.

But Remus had an inexplicable crush on the bird – sorry, not crush, _infatuation_.

Peter had rolled his eyes when Remus stuck out his finger, scrunched his face up at their teasing and used his perfectly practiced prefect voice to say, _well actually, you can’t really know if you like someone until at least four months have passed otherwise it could just be a chemical fucking shit up or something blah, blah, blah_.

Peter hadn’t really listened to him – he knew when Remus puffed his chest out and wagged his finger in that telltale way of his – he was going to start ranting and then he’d toss around a billion fucking words Peter didn’t understand. So, he’d rather learned to tune him out, but Peter was pretty sure he got the gist of it.

And it was annoying as fuck, after all Peter figured you couldn’t very well put a time limit on stuff like that, could you?

It was simple, if like Remus, you liked the way someone smiled – _not like that fake one she does when people are looking at her, but it’s like this small private little smirk when she’s gotten the correct answer and it’s like – god it’s so fucking hot, but it’s just a smile so I don’t_ – well odds are, if you talked about someone the way Remus talked about Hermione after a few weeks, you probably fancied their pants off – 

– Why? Well, Peter couldn’t tell you. Sure, she had nice skin and a lot of freckles, but her hair was a fucking nightmare and she was really quite annoying with her – _have you done the assignment yet, you’re going to forget if you aren’t careful and when you do, I don’t want to hear any complaining, it will be nobodies’ fault but your own_ –

God, they would have the most fucking uptight rule abiding children.

That is, if Remus ever admitted he fancied the girl, and then Hermione would have to reciprocate his feelings. So far, the only thing Hermione felt to any degree of intensity was apparent hatred for Peter – which he was probably deserving of, if only he knew what he’d done – and like a sense of loyalty – not love – to her _sister_ Luna.

They didn’t look a thing alike, which wasn’t too odd, he assumed one was probably adopted – or both for all he knew. Which wasn’t so unheard of. At any rate it wasn’t really Peter’s business.

But he couldn’t lie – it bothered him. The way he’d catch Hermione looking at him sometimes. It was the kind of look that didn’t have words, or any discernible emotion really; it was unsettling – it made his skin crawl.

Like honest to god fucking crawl – and his heart hammered in that way it did when he hadn’t done any of the assigned reading and a professor called on him. Or kind of like how he’d being feeling around his father more and more lately – there was a darkness; a scary as fuck hollow empty evil cave kind – in his eyes that hadn’t existed before; pronounced and decidedly overwhelming. 

She didn’t – she didn’t look at anyone else like that. Just him. 

He wasn’t so emotional that it hurt his feelings – but, well, it felt kind of unfair. Sure, he laughed a little louder than he maybe should, and his ears certainly stuck out in a rather unfortunate way – but that couldn’t really be the cause of Hermione’s dislike - _hatred_ , right?

Yet, there was this nagging sensation at the back of his mind, a jumpy, scared, paranoid sensation that meticulously picked and scraped at all of his precariously built walls. It told him – screamed – that there was something more. Hermione didn’t seem like the type of person to hate you for how you laughed.

But there wasn’t another explanation, not that he could come up with anyways; if only Peter were smarter, maybe if he read more, maybe if he paid better attention in class, maybe if he wasn’t so ugly and unnerving maybe she wouldn’t recoil when he addressed her. It’s not like he cared though, _no_ , he didn’t care, _he didn’t_ , not really, okay, so, maybe he did care, but only because he hadn’t done anything, only because it wasn’t fair –

She didn’t have a problem with anybody else as far as Peter could tell. Granted she didn’t act like she cared about what happened to them one way or the other – which was fine it’d only been a few weeks after all – but at least she didn’t openly hate them.

Peter was aware – painfully, stupidly fucking aware of his shortcomings. But, he’d purposefully went out of his way to make her feel welcome. As was his job being a prefect and all that –

Hadn’t he been nice? Hadn’t he tried to be helpful, even?

Yes, he had been both of those things and she’d still knocked him on his arse at the quidditch pitch. Everyone had laughed like it was a delightful game, even Peter at first, but there was something in Hermione’s eyes that had startled – _no_ , scared him.

They were blacker than he’d ever seen anybody’s eyes go (except maybe his father, but even then, it was pretty fucking close), and she looked positively lethal in her knee length skirt and her oversized Gryffindor scarf. A fearsome witch indeed. 

Peter hadn’t attempted to talk to the girl since then. After all he rather valued his life, thank you.

But he figured he better buck up and play nice with the girl, they didn’t need to be best mates for Pete’s sake – pun intended – but when Remus finally came around she was probably going to be spending a lot of time with them and he didn’t very well want to have that strangely dense suffocating tension hanging over them.

Which is why he was going to the library on a Saturday afternoon – Peter didn’t go to the library on a weekday let alone a prime quidditch playing Saturday, but he figured sacrifices needed to be made. At any rate he didn’t plan to be long. The books made him nervous – which was fucking weird, they were books, they weren’t alive, they didn’t do anything, they couldn’t hurt him or anything. But the words often got all mixed up on the page and it gave him a rather nasty headache and it made him sick, sick, _sick_ that he couldn’t even read like a normal person, but he wasn’t normal, was he? Always a little slower, practically a squib, so stupid, _so fucking stupid_ , –

But, Mary, kind and wonderful and radiant – read for him – to him. She was fucking beautiful and so goddamn kind – if only he wasn’t so ugly, he might ask her out someday. Peter had a huge ass crush on Mary McDonald –

See Remus? It isn’t so hard to admit you’ve gone completely bonkers about a bird.

It takes Peter a minute – a staggeringly, embarrassing, tantalizing minute – to find her. Turns out the library was fucking humongous. She stiffens considerably when he plops his bag down across from her and pulls out a seat. He flips it around and straddles it like he’d seen James do on occasion.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and neither does Hermione. Her shoulders are drawn up all the way to her ears and her knuckles tun a disgruntled milky bone-white from how hard she grips her quill, but she stays silent too.

While Peter had been the one to seek her out, he suddenly felt nervous. He didn’t want to be the first one to break their precarious silence, it felt too much like stepping off a precipice or jumping from a high ass building or something equally dangerous. So, he wrapped his knuckles against the table and rested his head on the back of the chair. He wouldn’t look directly at her, maybe her paper, not at the books, maybe the ceiling? He’d count the tiles then; he could do that.

“What do you want?” Hermione finally barks, her voice clear and heavy shatters the silence into a billion different pieces.

His heart explodes into a frenzy of – _just leave mate, leave while you can, while your ears are still attached, and all ten fingers are counted for_. But Peter urges his heart to calm down, he was a fucking Gryffindor. He channeled that James Potter charm and smiled, “So, hostile, why would I want anything?”

“I am not doing your homework” Hermione sniffed and pointedly angled her face away, “you can very well do it yourself.”

“God, you act like that’s all anyone wants you around for,” Peter scoffed, rolling his eyes. It wasn’t going to be easy, he knew that, but damn she was defensive. “Granger, _love_ , I don’t give a damn about my homework.”

She studied him for a long moment – one that spanned across a few different decades. Piercing eyes seizing him up, probably trying to assess his motive. Acting like a bloody fucking Slytherin she was.

“You really should.”

Hermione lowered her head and scratched a wobbly black line over a few words.

“I don’t.”

Peter shrugged nonchalantly – he would be calm, cool, and collected. He would be brave, and he would smile, and he would try to be her friend – and if she rejected him, he very well wouldn’t try again.

“How you do in school now determines how you’ll do in the future.” Hermione chastised and it felt familiar, like maybe he’d heard Lily say it or Remus or someone, but it made his fingers tingle uncomfortably.

Peter weighed his words carefully before shrugging, “Seems to me like a load of shite.”

“Excuse me?” Hermione bristled and heaved her head up to stare at him mortified. Such a strong reaction.

“It’s just like, writing a five-foot essay on the usefulness of a love potion, or reading a seven-hundred-page book on fucking herbs isn’t going to save my life if the dark lord wants to – yah know.” Peter slid his finger across his throat and couldn’t help but chuckle a little. He thought he was being kind of funny, you see. The thin line Hermione had pressed her lips into didn’t waver. He swallowed hard, embarrassed, “There’s a war going on Granger, excuse me if schoolwork isn’t my top priority.”

She looked at him again with those cold dark eyes and said softly, inexplicably quiet, “I know.”

“You spend too much time in the library.”

“You don’t care about school, fine. But I’d actually like to do well, thanks, so maybe bugger off?”

And Peter almost did. He almost got up and he almost left this stupid fucking insufferable know-it-all to do whatever the hell she wanted. But he always gave up when things got hard, didn’t he? He could leave and nobody could be mad at him for it. Nobody could say he hadn’t tried; nobody could say he had been mean or hostile, or that this had been his fault. But he didn’t get up. Just winced and looked at the ceiling again. Trying to find the courage everyone was always saying existed inside of him.

He could tell that she expected him to leave, Peter could tell that she expected him to give up, and he wanted to, he wanted to go play quidditch and quite wasting his time, he wanted –

He wanted to prove somebody fucking wrong for once.

 _See, I am not as stupid as you think I am. I am here, I exist, I am alive, and I am breathing. I will occupy this space to the best of my ability and I will not fucking leave you alone until you tell me why you hate me, because really it’s not fair, and I am kind of lovable if you stick around, or at least that’s what Sirius said and Sirius doesn’t say things like that just to say them_ –

“What are yah going to do when you graduate?”

She looks up at him then, contemplative, still, _still_ silently angry. He thinks she’s just going to ignore him, but she chokes out a mangled, “I-I don’t know.”

“That’s okay, you’re fucking seventeen.” Peter points out, “Why the hell do you have to have your whole life planned out?”

She opens her mouth to say something, probably something angry, she’s definitely going to berate him, or tell him to leave again. But her shoulders sag and her resolve wavers, he can see it, like it’s a tangible fucking thing and it – well it makes him feel slightly triumphant, “I had it all figured out once, I was going to do something really important. Or I suppose I thought it was important at the time.”

“What happened?”

She gives him this said little smile and it cracks him open, “The same thing that always happens, yeah?”

“You-know-who?” He chokes out and she stares at him then. Eye contact made him nervous as fucking hell, but this kind of lingering staring was a little different. It felt like a comradery of sorts – no, maybe not that, it was more like an absurdly civil understanding.

“Yeah,” The sound that leaves Hermione’s lips is a sad, fragile, desperate sort of thing.

Peter leans forward in his chair conspiratorially, “Well, we’re going to kill him, you know. Dumbledore’s already working on an army. If anyone asks I didn’t tell you, they already don’t trust me that well you see I talk too much –“

“Oh really?” She retorts and it – well, it fucking pisses him off because it shatters whatever weird silent thing they had just established.

“Oi,” He growls loudly.

“Sorry,” She breathes, “keep going.”

He nods and Hermione is honest to god surprised at how easily he accepts her apology, how simple and generous his forgiveness is.

“It’s just, we’re all going to fight him. He’s a fucking twat and he’s goddamn brilliant but he isn’t – he isn’t invincible. Nobody is. We’re going to kill him while we’re young and fearless.” Peter was passionate about a few things; his friends, Mary MacDonald’s eyes, and it seemed, killing Voldemort, “Then we’ll have time to be old and boring and worry about what kind of office jobs we’ll be doing.”

Hermione stared at him for a moment, before lowering her head. _What changes?_ She wants to ask. _What happens to you? Why do you do it?_ Tears prick at her eyes and slowly roll down her cheeks.

“Granger? Are you alright?” He asks clearly startled, when he gets not reply he runs a hand through his messy hair and sighs, “Fuck, it’s the library I’m telling you, the chemicals or something.”

Hermione furiously wipes at her tears, when she’s gotten it slightly under control, she stares at him, “You called the dark lord a twat.”

Peter nodded. He had.

“He is.”

“Yeah,” Hermione agreed. They lapse back into that strangely accommodating silence. Peter’s loath to break it, but he has to know, he has to ask.

“Why do you hate me?”

Hermione certainly wasn’t expecting that, “What?”

“Why do you hate me? I mean I haven’t done anything to you, have I?”

“ _You_ – “ she starts and it’s so accusatory he feels himself bristle, a defense already forming, but she deflates and shakes her head slowly, “No, no you haven’t done anything.”

“Then why? –“

  
“You remind me of somebody who did –“ Her voice cracks with a raw visceral sort of pain that fractures his fucking heart, “who did do a terrible, awful thing and I am having a hard time reconciling the two of you in my mind.”

 _Oh_.

Fuck.

It’s unfair – so fucking unfair – but he can’t argue with it. He doesn’t really want to.

“I can understand that Granger, I won’t try and like be your best mate or anything, but maybe, maybe don’t think my choice has been made, yah?”

He gets up to leave then, feeling as good about their conversation as he can – they weren’t going to be best friends, that wasn’t – he wasn’t expecting that. But it felt like they had come to an understanding of sorts.

Hopefully the next time she saw him she wouldn’t feel the need to hex the ever-living shit out of him.

“Peter, wait.”

He turns to look at her. She’s worrying her bottom lip and her eyebrows are furrowed down, down, _down_.

“I’m sorry for being a hag.”

He laughs then; a short loud obnoxious laugh. His ears tinge pink in embarrassment, but she gives him a small strained smile and it makes him feel better, oddly.

“You were a bit of a hag,” He confirms, and she grimaces, “But no worries, Granger. Ever talk to Sirius on a bad hair day? The blokes worse than Marlene and Dorcas combined.”

Hermione nods, and he thinks he sees the words _I know_ die on her tongue and her eyes and her fingertips but that’s impossible, you can’t – you can’t see things like that. He shakes his head and she sighs that same noiseless hopeless exhale. He wonders for the first time, really wonders, why she came to Hogwarts. 

“Look, we’re all going to the quidditch pitch in a few – don’t look at me like that, I know you don’t fly – the girls will be there, maybe you could come? You don’t have to, but the library is – well it’s kind of fucking horrible isn’t it?”

Hermione shakes her head, clearly appalled at his blatant defamation of the library. But what she says surprises both of them.

“I think – I think I’ll go with you.”

Peter knows a win when he sees one and can’t help pumping his fist excitedly.

“But it’s not because I hate the library,” She breathes, “– I am just – I feel rather tired of reading today.” _I feel rather tired in general_ – Hermione doesn’t say it aloud, but he’s always been good at picking up the silent things left unsaid between strangled breaths of air.

He doesn’t know her so he can’t appreciate the novelty of that statement, but he smiles and it’s so fucking weird, Hermione thinks, it’s such a wide-open mouthed thing. The corners of his mouth stretch, and she thinks they’re going to reach the tips of his eyes and his ears turn a little red and it makes her fucking gloomy and nauseous all at once – because, well, it reminds her of Ron.

“Remus is going to lose his fucking shit.”

Peter almost claps his hands over his mouth, he shouldn’t have said that – he was just excited, because it felt like finally – _finally_ doing something right. Remus certainly wouldn’t appreciate he insinuation but if it came up, surely, he’d understand, surely, none of the lads would be upset, after all he’d done the impossible.

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows shoot up and he fights the laugh that bubbles in his chest.

He doesn’t miss the way her cheeks tinge pink.

“Nothing,” He shakes his head fervently and smiles wide and bright and so, so fucking happy, “you’ve met the girls, right? Lily. Marlene, Dorcas, Mary? Wonderful lot they are.”

“Yeah,” Hermione deadpans, “we share a dorm.”

“Ah, _right._ ”

He doesn’t even have time to be embarrassed – he’s so fucking giddy. It doesn’t make any kind of sense, but things rarely made perfect sense to Peter anyways.

“Well, Marlene and Dorcas like to play quidditch with us lads, but Lily and Mary just watch so you can sit with them and talk about like flowers and shit.”

“You think that’s what girls talk about?” Hermione scoffs but it’s less angry, less indignant – more relaxed.

“I am certain I wouldn’t know.” He smiles again and she rolls her eyes and it feels somewhat like a tentative friendship –

It’s _not_. He knows it’s not. For whatever reason somebody had hurt Hermione and they reminded her of him so severely she couldn’t separate the two. He’d be stupid to mistake this as anything other than what it is. Still.

_Still._

“Can I – can I invite Luna?”

He falters at this, only because everyone knew Luna was off her fucking rocker, but he doesn’t want to be responsible for upsetting her again, “Er – well, I suppose that’d be fine,”

“Okay, I’ll need to stop at the common room _and_ try to find Luna, but I’ll – I’ll meet you at the pitch?”

“Yeah,” He nods, “Yeah, definitely. See you in a bit Granger.”

He watches her leave and she – well she turns and waves at him and he thinks she’s smiling but he can’t be sure, and he doesn’t want to assume but it feels fucking fantastic.

\--

“Oi,” James howls when he finally spots Peter, he’s about twelve feet in the air so Peter has to crane his neck to look up at him, “where’ve you been Petey?”

“In the library, mate.” Peter boasts puffing up his chest. Let them make of that what they will.

“No fucking way,” Sirius shakes his head wildly, his curls go flying – it’s – well, it makes Peter’s chest warm in a way it probably shouldn’t. Sirius touches down and strides over to him – it’s so smooth – but he shouldn’t be surprised. It was Sirius Black – everything he did was weirdly smooth. He rests an elbow on Peter’s shoulder.

James narrows his eyes and lands as well, “Where’ve you actually gone?”

Remus after the other two boys, looking rather skeptical.

“I’m telling you, the library.” Peter insists, all of the attention makes his fingers twitch with the pent-up pressure of too much – too much excitement. It’s a weird curious thing indeed.

“What the fuck?” James cries and Sirius tugs at one of Peter’s too large ears, it’s a friendly gesture but it embarrasses him all the same.

Remus stiffened, a staggering realization crashing over him, “why were you in the library Peter?”

“Take a wild guess lover boy,” and Peter makes the most ridiculously dramatic kissy faces that he can think of – if only because they’d all thought the boy was rather above frivolous things such as crushes, and it was nice to be reminded he was still a teenager. Sirius has no problem imitating them ridiculous faces and coming up with some choice noises that make even Peter blush. For his part James laughs along even if he doesn’t join in the festivities.

“Why were you talking to Hermione?” Remus knew, of course he knew, he was so fucking smart.

“Just invited her out to the pitch,” Peter shrugged nonchalantly.

“She doesn’t like quidditch or flying.” Remus pointed out. _Or you_ , no one else noticed it, but that was the unspoken sort of thing Peter was so good at picking up. Probably the reason his ears were so big, and his eyes were so wide. To see the things nobody else did.

 _Ah_ ,

Remus was jealous. No matter, Peter was mad for Mary, he’d pull the other boy aside later and they could talk about it.

“No,” Peter agreed, “but she’s coming anyways, to watch.”

“This is going to be bloody brilliant.” Sirius declared, he and James each took turns high fiving Peter. They were all excited to see their perfect prefect fall to pieces.

“Oi, leave me alone. I’ve told you, I don’t –“

“Yes, we know, Moony. You don’t have a goddamn crush on the girl –“ James iterated.

“Just a chemical reaction to her presence –“ Sirius continued.

“Okay, it seems further explanation would be redundant.” Remus clears his throat and the tips of his ears turned a delicious pink. It was oh so endearing. Oh so exhilarating. These were the moments he’d remember forever, Peter decided. These uncomplicated brief moments that weren’t all that important in the grand scheme of things – when they didn’t need to be adults, or think about their impending futures, or sadistic dark wizards – when they could just be kids enjoying their day off.

“She invited her sister though, the blonde one,” Peter said solemnly, “a few screws loose that one.”

“Yeah,” James nodded, “was talking to me about bloody whackspurts just the other day.”

“It’s like what the fuck is a Nargle,” Sirius cried, “you feel me?”

“She has to have just made them up, right?” Peter wondered.

“I don’t know,” Remus mused, “the world is an awfully big place, that is to say we certainly can’t know everything.” As if on some ethereal wave length James and Sirius rolled their eyes in tandem.

“But we can know when someone’s made something up, yeah?” Peter asks but it wasn’t so much a question, as more of a blatant disagreement. Remus could defend her all he wanted – Luna was fucking batshit.

“Oi, crazy blonde ten o’clock.” Sirius whispered, and their spines straightened instantly.

All four of the boys turned to see the approaching girls. Luna had her hair braided in a long plait down her back and had a dangly vegetable hanging from her ears – it looked like a radish, but Peter really had no fucking idea what it was.

“Lovely to see all of you again,” Luna smiled – the boys shared a glance. She hadn’t said anything particularly startling, except they’d really only spoken in passing before, and she’d not even officially met Remus yet. No matter, Peter was willing to forgive the mistake, but Hermione elbowed her, and shot her a strange look.

Luna turned her wide distracted eyes towards Hermione, “Oh, are you okay?”

For her part Hermione went slightly pink, she muttered something under breath and huffed loudly, “We’re just going to go find the other girls, yeah”

Sirius turned his charismatic aristocratic features on Luna and winked cheekily, “Don’t talk about my bum too much!”

Hermione gaped and James elbowed Sirius in the stomach, “your bum is flat as fuck mate, Petey’s got the nice arse.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and looped arms with Luna.

“Oi, it really hurts when you say things like that mate,” Sirius whined, “you’re only joking yeah?”

“No worries Sirius, you do have a nice bum, when we run out of things to talk about I’m sure we’ll mention it briefly,” Luna acknowledged and gave a strange absent smile that sent goosebumps down the length of Peter’s arms.

Peter could tell Hermione was fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose, and Remus gave her an apologetic sort of smile. You didn’t have to be as observant as Peter was to know that it surprised the girl - her nerves looked well and truly frayed. With bright red cheeks – it could’ve been the cold really, turned to Peter, “I really am sorry I’ve been awful to you.”

Peter smiled.

“No worries, Granger.”

\--

They’re not American, Severus decides.

That much is obvious, but why – why lie? It’s obvious they have a secret; a secret Dumbledore is actively working to protect. How they got the almighty defender of all things good and holy to lie for them – well that was beyond him. Especially considering they weren’t anything special; they were surprisingly ordinary.

Yet, there were certainly peculiar parts of them – oddities in their behaviors. The blonde one – Luna – she _was_ odd in a fascinating, throat scratching, headache inducing kind of way.

And they didn’t look like they were sisters, either. Which he supposed, wasn’t so abnormal in and of itself, but more than that, they didn’t really act like sisters. But they insisted they were. Was that a lie too? And if it was, why on Earth would they lie about it?

Were they spies? No, that didn’t seem right, what could – _no_ , who could they be spying on –

A realization splashed cold over him – it was staggeringly sober and unnervingly gentle - it was a reminder then, of his purpose; of the job he had to do.

But would Dumbledore really use students as spies? It was a possibility. He was already lying to everybody about where they came from – they weren’t American. They had shit accents and didn’t even pretend otherwise.

This irritated Severus, more so than it probably had any right to, but he couldn’t figure them out. The brown haired one was simple enough – she was a righteous fucking Gryffindor who made fast friends with Potter and back. But the blonde one – Luna – her motives were far more confusing. She sat next to him in the classes they shared, she seeked him out in the hallways and at the lake.

She had these wide blue eyes and nothing she said made any kind of fucking sense but occasionally she’d say something that made him pause and he’d turn and look at her and he’d remember, she wasn’t fucking crazy at all.

Overall though he had to admit, she was astonishingly ordinary.

And it was – well it was disappointing.

Because she had this smile – this weird close-mouthed smile that made you feel cracked wide open – it made him feel cracked wide open. Like she was looking at all of the moving parts of him – like she was assessing, appraising, it was –

Unnerving.

It was fucking annoying.

It was – well – it was kind of beautiful too.


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not me learning how to shift realities so i can meet the marauders and attempt to write accurate characters. also look, i am sorry it took me over a month to update, i really loved the feedback from the last chapter and i hope you haven't all forgotten about me lol. i have virtually no excuse seeing as i wrote half of this over a month ago. but the play i was on finished and so now i am not quite so busy, anyways important info ---
> 
> I’m glad the changing perspectives thing isn’t too awful – I think, and I say this very hesitantly - but I am going to alternate between Peter, Hermione, and Luna. I think any more than that and it’ll just get crazy. It's my dumbass fault for trying to write twelve hundred fucking love stories all at once. But what can yah do?
> 
> And occasionally I might add small bits for – Snape, Remus, and Mary, plus if I’m feeling extra spicy – Sirius.  
> Ok tell it to me straight – does this story read like all of the characters are seriously fucking into each other? Like, I don't??? KNOW?? 
> 
> Sorry for the long ass author's note, hopefully the next update has like... plot?? idk your guess is as good as mine!

If we were once things – if, if past lives existed – then Hermione figured she wasn’t something sentient. Probably a flower, but not the kind that springs from the ground in cacophonies and meadows of unbound wobbly freedom. Not the – not the _beautiful_ kind. A flower that sprouts from in between pieces of gravel – strange and wilted, not because it was stepped on but because that’s just how it grew, strange and unshapely; an eyesore. And if anyone found it fascinating, well, it was because it wasn’t supposed to be there. 

It’s a metaphor, then, isn’t it?

Look at its whichever way you want, flip it upside down even. Hermione wasn’t supposed to be here. Not in this time, not in this school. A fact she was reminded of constantly, Hogwarts had no place for people like her, not with her muggle blood and her muggle brain.

No, _no_.

Hermione did belong here, maybe not in this time, but definitely in this world. She’d always have to work a little harder, be a little smarter, pretend a little better than everyone else, but even then – _especially then_ –

– she was just as magic as they were, if not more so because she wasn’t supposed to be.

But even after all these years, even after seeing all of the impossible, ridiculous things magic could do she still found herself pinching her forearm in unfathomable disbelief, just to see. Just to make sure she wasn’t ordinary again, and that this wasn’t all some kind of awfully specific fever dream that her brain had conjured up. 

No, Hermione certainly wasn’t creative enough for that. She was analytical and believed in theories and logic and irrefutable evidence. She believed in rules, and despite what the Weasley Twins or Harry or anybody for that matter claimed, there _was_ a certain kind of power in following them; in being absolutely everything everyone expects you to be.

Because there will come a day, not tomorrow, not a week from now, _not soon_ , but rest assured, it does come. Slowly, and tantalizingly shaky sometimes, but arriving all the same. Where Hermione can finally shed her rules and her skin and it’ll be shocking and scandalous and oh so dramatic, but it’ll be hers and it’ll be –

Well,

_It’ll be magic._

Yes, Hermione was playing the long game.

\--

“ _So_ ,” An auspicious beginning to say the least, the words fell from Marlene’s lips, slowly and deliberately. She’d been thoroughly pacing around the dorm room for the last ten minutes perhaps trying to find that infamous Gryffindor courage everyone was always talking about. It was clear she wanted to ask a question, or say something that maybe she shouldn’t, “You and Luna are sisters then?”

There it was.

Of course, it was annoying, no doubt to have to keep reaffirming what had already been clearly stated, but overall Hermione was not caught off guard. It was the thing everyone was wondering, what everyone was whispering about. The million-dollar question so to speak.

Hermione studied Marlene for a moment, she was a sight to be hold indeed. Fearsome and calculated in her own way. She was certainly a formidable match for any witch or wizard, but in the moment, right now, she looked uncertain, and she looked wary. Her blonde hair was piled into a haphazard bun on the top of her head that seemingly defied all laws of physics and before she could stifle the thought, Hermione realized, it reminded her of the burrow.

“Yes,” Hermione nodded along agreeably before returning her attention back to her book. Hermione wasn’t stupid, she understood how it looked. She didn’t spend very much time with Luna, and they weren’t as close as maybe they were probably supposed to pretend to be. More than that, Hermione had been cagey when they’d first traveled back in time, she’d bristled at anything that moved suddenly and she’d been suspicious of everyone and everything.

Constant vigilance, right?

It had kept her safe, but at what cost? Would she ever be able to trust anyone the way she had when she was younger? Easily, and without ceremony? No, probably not.

You lose parts of yourselves when you do the things you shouldn’t have to, the hard-messy things, when you leave behind the things you know, when you find that somehow your only comfort is having a blanket to sleep with and a locket that whispers traitorous, wicked things into your ear. It makes you mad with wanting, it affects the very air around you, and it makes you wonder how you got here. How the Earth had completed its rotation only for you to never have moved at all. It happens just like this, without warning, it happens when you get captured and tortured mercilessly by your childhood bully’s lunatic aunt. You lose these parts of yourselves; you lose them in the sky and the wind, and it’s no big thing, really.

Not at first.

It doesn’t feel empty or bad or like you’ve lost something irretrievable. But then you get put in a new time and you can’t, well you can’t adapt, because nobody taught you how, because you’ve left the easy part of you behind on the damp floor of a cellar. And sometimes, even if you really _really_ want to, you don’t ever get those lost pieces back.

But despite all of that, Hermione _was_ making a conscious effort, she’d slowly begun to loosen up around the other Gryffindor girls. And even if it was at a snail’s pace, well, at least it was happening at all. She was trying to be more relaxed like Luna, but it was hard. Hermione did not often like to, how would Ron put it? Ah, yes, _go with the flow_.

“Like actually though?” Marlene’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and Hermione wanted to laugh, half from hysteria and half from the look in Marlene’s eyes. She looked half crazed and simultaneously startled by her own aggressiveness.

“I do believe,” Hermione stated exasperatedly, but there was no fighting he smile in her voice, “I just said yes.”

She wasn’t angry, she couldn’t be.

Not now.

She wasn’t trying to be vigilant, and she wasn’t worried about the timeline. Well, she definitely was worried about the timeline, but not at the moment. She was tired of being all of those things. Right now she just wanted to be seventeen, she just wanted to find comfort in the never-ending ambiguity and spasmodic butterflies that Mr. Darcy always seemed to bring.

“She means to ask if you’re related by blood,” Dorcas chimed from the end of her bed, she was propped up against the maroon pillows enchanting tiny broomsticks to whizz around the room and occasionally land in the bird nest that made up Marlene’s hair.

“Oh, well, no.” Hermione shrugged, because honestly it didn’t matter, it _shouldn’t_ matter, and she was going to tell them as much, “But it’s hardly important, we may not be related by blood, but we are sisters,”

Marlene nodded as if this made perfect sense, as if she were expecting it, “It just explains why you’re so, weird around each other,”

“I’m not weird,” Hermione said a little too quickly, she shook her head slowly and tried to say her next few words carefully, “we’re not, we’re, we are perfectly normal siblings thank you,”

“It’s just, well, you act like you don’t know who she is sometimes,” Marlene pointed out, Hermione doesn’t flinch. It was true enough.

Hermione didn’t understand half the things that went through Luna’s mind and she didn’t understand where she got off saying some of the things she said sometimes, but beneath all of that there was respect. Luna was strong indeed; she didn’t bat an eye when she saw Professor Dumbledore in the hospital wing, and she spoke with a finality that made her seem wise. Wiser than Hermione. There was trust, and there was, a strange well of love. Small, but flowing. 

Hermione nodded slowly before gritting her teeth in determination, “We’re very different – Luna’s very –”

“Different,” Marlene finished for her and swatted away at a broomstick that had landed in her ear. Dorcas chortled at the murderous glare Marlene sent her way, and despite herself, Hermione did find it kind of funny.

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded, “We didn’t spend a lot of time together growing up, it wasn’t until recently that we became close. It seems there are certain things you can’t go through without, without coming together a little bit I suppose. She’s, well, she’s peculiar but she’s fiercely loyal,” and that was true, she’d followed them to the ministry without even thinking. She’d exhibited a bravery any Gryffindor would have been proud of, and a loyalty so akin to Hufflepuff it made Hermione wonder if they couldn’t be all of the houses. Why couldn’t they be cunning, and brave, and smart, and kind, why did they only get to choose one? Hermione continued on, “she’s so very smart, and well, no, we aren’t sisters by blood, but we are sisters in every other way. In all of the ways that matter, in all of the ones that don’t,”

Hermione locked eyes with Marlene and she immediately wished she hadn’t, the girl was red faced and smiley as she teased, “I didn’t think you were the sentimental sort!”

“I am not, I just,” Hermione paused and gave a short-clipped laugh, “well, I do believe old age is making me poetic.”

“And she’s joking too!” Marlene cried turning her crocodile tears on Dorcas.

While not particularly invested in the conversation as a whole, Dorcas did let out a good-natured laugh, “She’s spoiling us, Marlene,”

“What on earth could we have done to deserve such special treatment?”

  
“Honestly, if you’re quite done!” Hermione laughed and tutted her head in mock annoyance. It was good to laugh, she decided. It was nice to feel something other than confusion or anger or blistering sadness.

The chuckles died down and silence once again filled the girl’s dormitory, Marlene plopped down on her bed seemingly satisfied with her inquisition.

“You don’t believe in that stuff, do you?” Dorcas’s voice broke up the newly established silence, but Hermione found she didn’t mind, for better or for worse she liked these girls and she liked talking to them, even if most of what she said was a lie, “Whackspurts?”

“No, but I don’t believe in Divination either, it’s entirely nonsensical,” Hermione shrugged innocuously before continuing, “I believe in logic, and I believe in reason. It makes being a witch very difficult sometimes, I daresay.”

It was a well-practiced speech. Being a witch was difficult for Hermione sometimes, especially when inexplicable things occurred, like time traveling twenty years into the past. Most things could be explained away by science, even magical things, but then there were the incomprehensible things like the bonding magic she and Luna were looking into.

Hermione had been furiously researching it since Luna had mentioned it in the room of requirements. There was very little information on it, and there was certainly none about tricky little time turners that without warning decide to intercede on your behalf.

Just then Mary MacDonald and Lily Evans traipsed into the dorm room engaged in a conversation seemingly about muggle music.

“So, why _did_ you come to Hogwarts anyways?” Marlene wondered aloud as she tossed a small plush cat in the air repeatedly.

“Marlene!” Mary, who wouldn’t hear a negative word against anyone, cried in exasperation. She plopped down on her bed eyes as wide as saucers. Her concern was endearing.

“What? We were all thinking it, don’t look at me like that Mary you were curious too,” Marlene bristled at Mary’s shock, apparently she wasn’t expecting to be chastised by the other girl tonight.

“What she means to say is we’re all very curious about you,” Mary’s reassuring eyes were on Hermione now, “especially with your, uhm, _unusual_ arrival.”

“We weren’t safe in America,” Hermione shrugged and wished she could just leave at that. She didn’t really want to talk about it, mainly because she was tired of lying and she hadn’t really come up with a solid story. Which was the least Hermione thing in the world, but Hermione was beginning to wonder what parts of her were true and what parts of her were the lies she’d created.

“Why?” Marlene, ever curious, pressed.

That was easy enough.

Hermione sighed, “You-know-who.”

“ _Oh_ , I didn’t know he was fucking shit up in other countries too,” Marlene commented softly, and Hermione almost, _almost_ laughed.

“Well, he isn’t, at least I don’t think so. Just – our parent’s well, he knew them, and they were – well, let’s just say it was personal.”

“Oh, right,” Marlene nodded, and then continued with her unfortunate questioning, “Who where your parents then?” 

“Excuse me?” Hermione coughed startled, god why couldn’t they just let it go. Why did they have to be nosy Gryffindors?

“Your parents,” Marlene reiterated slowly, “why did our local edge lord kill them?”

“He – I – mhm,” Hermione stumbled over her words in a way that she hoped conveyed a sort of grief, and not the panic she was actually feeling.

“Marlene! You can’t ask things like that,” Mary gasped and brought her hands up to her mouth in horror.

“Yeah, it’s rude,” Dorcas agreed and sent another broomstick after her.

Lily, who hadn’t said a thing to Hermione since she’d entered the dorm room turned her attention on her, “You don’t have to answer that Hermione,”

“Oh, pack it up you lot. I didn’t mean anything by it,” Marlene growled snapping into a sitting position. Her cat plushy long forgotten, “‘Mione knows that, yeah?”

 _Mione,_ Hermione’s heart hurt, it was becoming a wretched broken little thing indeed. Bruised blue from the lack of oxygen but tinged black and turning blacker ever still from the shocking, surprising, _devastating_ way people in this time had a way of catching her off guard, of reminding her of home so fiercely she felt dizzy and upended.

“It’s fine, I just, I am not really ready to talk about it,” Hermione sniffed, and the tears that seemed to gather at the edge of her vision weren’t fake at all, she was sad but not for the reason they would think, “it was rather uhm, fresh you see,”

“No worries, don’t feel pressured to tell us anything love,” Mary was quick to reassure with her kind words and her kinder heart, she looked like she wanted nothing more than to fling her arms around the other girl and whisper calming endearments in her ear. It was sweet and Hermione was half-tempted to beckon the girl over, it’d been so long since she’d had a hug like that.

“And you!” Lily focused her furious gaze on Marlene, “You need to think before you speak,”

“I’ll have you know,” Marlene bristled, “I think exactly as much as can be expected of me.”

“Which is not at all,” Dorcas snorted unperturbed by the sneer Marlene sent her way.

“Oi!”

“You sound like Sirius, love,” Mary chided not unkindly, and shrieked when Marlene playfully lobbed her cat plushy at the girl. Hermione found the interaction particularly wholesome and it made her long for her own friends.

Dorcas turned her gaze on Lily and gave a sly sort of smile, “So, you’re going to Hogsmeade with James then?”

“Not that I am aware of,” Lilly bit out tersely, and at the shocked look on Mary’s face sighed and shook her head, “He hasn’t asked me, you see”

“Oh, she’s deflecting,” Dorcas nodded solemnly, but not very good at play acting she broke into a grin and the crease between her brows melted away painlessly.

“It doesn’t very well matter if I am deflecting, seeing as he himself hasn’t asked me to accompany him,” Lily bristled clutching at her pillow firmly, her stare along could burn a hole through anyone’s head. It was filled with a foreign kind of animosity that didn’t belong there; Hermione had only seen something like it once before in Harry’s eyes.

“Don’t get testy red, we’re just curious,” Marlene abandoned her position on her bed and grandly flung herself across the end of Lily’s bed like a pair of well-loved socks.

“Hermione’s probably confused,” Mary pointed out, “she doesn’t know anything about our star-crossed lovers.”

 _I am not_ , Hermione wants to say. She know all about it, after all.

She knew that Lily loved James even though she was fiercely determined to think him foolish forever, she knew their love story just as well as she knew Elizabeth Bennet’s.

“No, that’s – I’m not,” But she wasn’t supposed to, she was supposed to be new and confused and from America, so she shook her head and smiled softly, “okay yeah, a little bit.”

“James has been after Lily for ages.” Dorcas supplied.

“Ugh,” Lily groaned before burying her head in her hands.

“It’s true, Lils, he has.” Mary teased not unkindly.

“But she’s been holding out because he’s like – the biggest prat you’ll ever meet,” Marlene interjected.

“Until he showed he was capable of feeling actual human emotions, that is.” Dorcas chortled and Hermione felt a twisted sort of familiarity in the way the three finished each other’s sentences, it made her long for a pair of red headed Weasley twins.

“Oh my god.” Lily gasped, her cheeks were turning a brilliant red and god, it reminded her of Ron _and_ Ginny. It reminded her of all of them.

“Last year James helped a first year who was having a panic attack and Lily’s head was turned.” Dorcas continued.

“Finicky thing the heart is.” Mary said softly, her voice wistful and full of uninhibited romanticism. Hermione couldn’t remember what had happened to Mary MacDonald, if she’d married or if she’d survived the war, but Hermione really hoped she had. She deserved a great love.

“My head has not been turned thank you very much,” Lily insisted shaking her head, it was a pitiful attempt to save face but valiant in its ways, nonetheless.

“Certainly, it has!” Dorcas exclaimed sitting forward now, the broomsticks whizzed in a circle around her head, “you should have seen the look on her face afterwards, poor lass was redder than her hair and we had to practically carry her out of the common room.”

“She needed resuscitating too, thank god our blessed Mary learned CPR last spring, or red here surely wouldn’t have made it through.” Marlene teased, and Lily took the pillow she had been previously safeguarding and shoved it in Marlene’s face. It took the blonde girl utterly by surprised and she spluttered in response, Mary and Dorcas snickered softly. Hermione fought the urge to join in.

“That’s not true! You’re lying,” Lily shook her head ruefully at Marlene before turning her attention to Hermione, her brows were drawn together, and her tone was fierce, but her cheeks were tinged red and that was telling enough, “they’re lying. I functioned perfectly normal, thank you. But I have to admit, I was surprised.”

“There you have it!” Marlene exclaimed tossing the pillow back to Lily who caught it effortlessly and returned to clutching it to her chest.

“Oh, bugger off you hag.” Lily kicked the other witch off of her bed, and Marlene evidently too trusting of her redheaded friend shrieked as she fell from the four-poster bed. Hermione couldn’t fight the laugh that bubbled up in her chest when her head popped up eyes trained on Lily in mock horror, with her mouth flung wide open aghast.

Marlene, never one to be cowed dusted herself off and jumped up on Lily’s bed. She jumped up and down feverishly jostling Lily as she did so, “How they’ve managed to avoid shagging for the past three years is truly beyond me, you think their sexual tension is bad now, god you should’ve seen them fifth year,”

“Marlene!” Mary gasped and giggled in a way that reminded of her Lavender Brown, but for once the memory of the girl didn’t illicit annoyance, or jealousy or anything close to the likes of it. Instead she felt sorry. Sorry she couldn’t have laughed as freely as Lavender did, she hoped that wherever she was now, she was still laughing like this,

“No!” Lily shook her head fervently trying to stay upright and fend off Marlene’s bouncing, “There is no tension, and there has certainly never been any kind of tension between James and I!”

“Oh Merlin,” Marlene wheezed and fell face first into Lily. She clutched at her side; her eyes closed as she gasped for breath. Marlene and Lily were now a tangle of limbs that sent Dorcas and Mary into hysterics.

It certainly wasn’t all that funny, not really. But their laughs were simply infectious, giddy and unaware of the coming terrors. They would never be like this again. Hermione couldn’t tell you what it was; maybe it was just the moment and the way they were all clutching their pillows struggling to breathe, red faced and warm. Maybe that’s what it was that made it funny, maybe it was the intense comradery and the hazy blurry sort of way these things would be remembered, maybe it was the strange sense of belonging that clung to Hermione’s skin like happy incandescent instances like these tended to do.

Whatever it was, it made her laugh, like really laugh, and if it was a little more hysterical than the rest, if it was a little louder than it should have been, well, she could chalk it up to the sheer preposterousness of gossiping with Harry’s dead mother and co.

“I nearly forgot,” Marlene panted in between breaths, the two girls had finally separated, “Potter had a nosebleed every time red walked into the room.”

“It wasn’t – _that’s not_ –” Lily shrieked while furiously patting her once straight hair down. Marlene’s assault had ensured Lily’s hair looked almost as bird’s nest-esque as hers did.

“It was a blood bath,” Dorcas agreed solemnly.

“You lot are awful,” Lily insisted hotly but she didn’t mean it, you could tell by the way she smiled.

“Lils, it’s kind of true,” Mary who was loath to speak a conflicting word to anyone offered shyly, her face was still red from laughing and her mouth was pulled wide from smiling; she looked majestic and wild, her blue eyes shone with an unearthly sort of beauty. 

“Well, anyways, Lily’s finally returning James’s feelings, but the blokes dumb as shit.” Marlene shrugged.

“Marlene,” Lily gasped, “He is head boy, you know!”

“Lily don’t be daft, that’s because Dumbledore’s biased as shit, we all know it should have been Remus,” Dorcas argued. One thing Hermione admired about the group of her girls before her was that they were okay openly disagreeing with each other, they didn’t get nasty about it and they very rarely took it personally. 

“Marlene was certainly a little mean about it,” Offered Mary hesitantly, “but it _is_ kinda true Lils. He’s been in love with you for ages,”

“Yeah, and the fact that he can’t tell you’re halfway there already proves he’s dumb as fuck,” Marlene agreed.

“Who’s half in love? Certainly, it isn’t me!”

“Look how red our little firecracker is getting,” Dorcas laughed and then said rather solemnly, “you better hope your kids take after you, yeah?”

Hermione’s heart stutters, trips over itself. However happy she could pretend to be, she would still never get used to this. The baffling little reminders that she didn’t belong here. Not with these people, not in this time. Not when they were all going to die, and _soon_. How could everything have been so perfect moments ago, how could she still feel the ache of a too wide, stretched out smile but the stifling numbness that dreadful reminders like this always tended to bring.

She could not be happy here. She could not get attached.

“Oh my god, we’re seventeen, I’m not – he’s not – he hasn’t even asked me to Hogsmeade.” Lily shrieked but there was hopeful sort of way she denied Dorcas’s statement.

“If he did ask you, would you say yes?” All heads turned towards Hermione, she seemed just as surprised at the words that had leaped from her lips. She’d remained entirely silent since the tease Lily train had departed and it’s with a seriousness that doesn’t befit the situation at all.

Lily swallows hard and shakes her head, “No, I don’t – I don’t think I will,”

“Oh, Lily,” Mary sighed softly.

“I don’t understand,” Hermione admitted, it wasn’t something she liked to do but couldn’t understand why Lily would turn down an offer to Hogsmeade with James if she was interested. 

“It’s just – I think, I think he might be joking,” Lily whispered softly, she cringed afterwards and Hermione wondered if this was the first time she’s ever said these words aloud, “His crush or whatever has been like a running gag for ages hasn’t it? What if – what if that’s all it is? A joke.”

 _It’s not a joke_ , Hermione’s brain buzzes, she wants to say it out loud, but she can’t think of anything that wouldn’t immediately give her away or make her seem foolish.

But it’s all there, if only she could impress upon Lily the knowledge she had with a single glance. But Lily wasn’t looking at her instead she had her hands fisted in the sheets and her eyes downcast to the floor.

He’s going to love you so much one day he’ll take on the most powerful dark wizard wandless, and you are going to have a child – his name is going to be Harry, and he’s going to end up being the very best parts of both of you, and he’s going to be stupid, and kind, and he’s going to be so, so good. He’ll have your eyes, and your heart and – well, James isn’t – he’s not joking, he’s going to love you so much it’ll kill him –

“He’s _not_ ,”

“Thanks, Hermione. But you’ve only been here a few weeks you see,” she sighed, opened her mouth to say something, and shook her head. She looked back up and forced a sad little smile, “He _is_ awfully convincing, isn’t he?”

It was so sad Hermione’s heart broke; fractured into a million little pieces. But that’s how it would be from now on, until she got home, even after she got home. She still had a job to do. There was still a war going on. So, she better get used to it, because it was just going to keep breaking. A wasteland if there ever was one.

Mary abandoned her position on her bed and crossed over to Lily. She slipped into bed next to her and wrapped her arms around the girl, “Awe, Lils.”

“He’s just a bloke,” Marlene shrugged as if she truly couldn’t see the appeal, and staggered back over to Dorcas’s bed, no doubt to annoy the other girl.

“Not helping,” Dorcas lodged a fist into Marlene’s shoulder when she’d finally reached her and in turn the blonde witch yanked on her neat plait. It wasn’t long before the two were rolling around the floor scratching and clawing at the other. Mary and Lily didn’t seem to be bothered so Hermione could guess this was something that happened often.

It was almost comical how much it reminded her of James and Sirius. But there was something else there too, Hermione could tell. Sometimes Marlene’s jabs were a little too personal and sometimes Dorcas was a little too violent. They had a tricky relationship, indeed.

“I think if he asks you to go, you should said say yes,” Hermione supplied turning her attention back to Lily who had mostly recovered from the onslaught of jokes that had been lobbed unceremoniously at her expense and the rare moment of vulnerability, “just to – just to see,”

“Hm,” Lily seemed to contemplate this for a moment, and then her disposition brightened considerably, “alright. But, on one condition,”

“What’s that?”

“If Remus asks you to go, you have to say yes _, just to see_ ,”

\--


End file.
